Mourning 2
by Yankee01754
Summary: Mourning told from Slim's POV.


Mourning 2

By Yankee 01754

The sky looked as dark and brooding as Jess' face that sad morning, . I could tell the funeral was eating him up. And why wouldn't it? It was his friend, John MacLean that we were burying. An innocent man hanged by a bunch of vigilantes calling themselves a posse. And their leaders - a retired judge and his son the special deputy sheriff - well, all of them actually, were lucky to be alive. Jess had been so ready to kill them for what they'd done.

Just a few days before, Jess had confronted a man looking to trade horses because his had gone lame. Jess came up on him from the back and drew only to find himself looking into the face of his old friend. It turned out that Mac was chasing after Vern Cowan for stealing his horse. Jess knew the name. He knew Vern Cowan was - as he and Mac put it - still cheating the rope.

Jess sold him one of our horses and watched his friend ride away. Nor too much later the vigilante posse, headed by James Hedrick whose father was a retired judge, rode into the yard looking for Mac. They claimed he killed a sheriff and a doctor and they were going to find him and hang him for it - without a trial.

I was on my way home with a load of hay when I ran into that bunch. James Hedrick asked me if I'd seen anybody riding my way. I told him about my own brief encounter with Mac - how he was looking for a stranger riding a buckskin horse and he'd headed off cross country to hunt for him.

When I pulled into the yard Jess was saddling his horse. When I asked him if he was going to join up with them he said "No". He was intent on stopping them because he knew they had the wrong man. I told him to wait - that I'd go with him but he took off before I could even get off the wagon. I had to take care of the team before I could go after him. When I caught up with him he had his rifle trained on Hedrick and company and Mac was sitting on his horse with a hangman's noose around his neck.

It took some doing to get Jess to ease off but he finally put his rifle away, cut Mac free and we headed back to the ranch where we found retired Judge Hedrick waiting to hold a trial. That's what he called it. I call it a kangaroo court myself.

Jess wanted time to hunt Cowan down so that he could prove Mac's innocence. I promised to take care of Mac while he was gone. I failed - miserably. I tried. The Good Lord knows I tried. I argued. I accused them of being the kangaroo court that they were. I fought for Mac. In the end I was overwhelmed by the "posse" and knocked out. I don't know who did it. I only know that, by the time I regained consciousness, it was all over and Mac was dead. Hanged from a tree in my barnyard.

Jess came home a little later. He stormed into the house looking for me I imagine. He found me in the kitchen, shirt off, leaning over a basin of water. I let him rant. The first words out of my mouth were "I'm sorry Jess.". He didn't seem to hear. He kept ranting - asking me if I helped tie the rope around Mac's neck? Maybe I was asleep when it happened. I told him to go ahead and get it off his chest. When he ran out of steam I straightened up and turned around. Jess' face changed expression - from anger and grief to shock and concern - in a heartbeat. I had a nasty cut over my right eye. That was why I had been leaning over the basin. I was trying to clean it up.

"Slim. Who did that to you?" he asked me.

I couldn't tell him. I didn't know. It could have been any one of the men in the posse. Maybe even the judge for all I knew.

Jess turned to leave, stomping furiously toward the door. I asked him where he was going and he said "I'm going visitin'. I haven't been invited but that's all right." And then he said something about bringing a nice present, and touched the pistol on his right hip. I tried to stop him but I was too dizzy at that moment. I went back to the kitchen counter and finished cleaning the cut. After tearing some rags into bandages I managed to get on one my aching head and then got a clean shirt. I put my own gun belt on and my hat and vest and headed for the saloon for I knew that's where the confrontation I expected would happen.

I wasn't wrong. Jess was on the verge of totally losing control. At the time I didn't know if that loss of control would lead to tears or killing. I walked in during the middle of his tirade and put a hand on his shoulder. He was so tense he was shaking but the vigilantes didn't know that. I didn't give him away I just calmly told him that nobody was going to draw. We'd turn them all - including Cowan - over to the law and let the circuit judge, who was due to arrive in a few days, handle both cases.

After we saw to them being locked up we went home. We still had to deal with Mac. We couldn't leave him hanging from that tree. Jess almost broke when we cut Mac down, put him on the wagon covered by a blanket, and drove him in to the undertakers. Poor Jess was so far gone in his grief he couldn't even think straight so I paid the undertaker to fix him up and for a decent casket to bury him in.

"We'll take him home, Jess," I told him, "and bury him on the hill next to Ma and Pa."

"Thanks, Slim. I appreciate it. Mac doesn't have no family that I know of."

I wanted to hug Jess right then and there - just as I would have Andy - only I knew Jess wouldn't tolerate it. We're friends, yes, but we haven't been friends that long yet. Jess is still a little bit of a loner.

I finished making the arrangements with the undertaker and paid for everything including a grave digger who would also fill in the grave when the service was over. The preacher was more than obliging and said he would be there whenever we were ready.

It's two days later now and Jess is being eaten up by his grief. He hasn't eaten. He hasn't slept. He's been pacing the floor or tossing and turning. Moaning. Calling Mac's name. The nightmares have left him with dark circles under his eyes. There must be something I can do.

The preacher says his last words and now the service is over. I reach out and put my arm around his shoulders, saying "Let's go home." There.'s nothing more we can do for Mac.

After changing his clothes (I'd talked him into dressing up for the funeral) Jess has gone outside and started furiously attacking the woodpile by the barn. I'm sure he's wishing it was one of the vigilante's - especially James Hedrick - that he's attacking.

"Jess. Jess, you can't help Mac. He's dead. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"I know. I just have to do something - anything to keep from going into Laramie and killing that bunch that called themselves a posse."

I reach for the other axe and start chopping almost as furiously as Jess is. When he asks me why I tell him it's because I'm mad too. I feel like I let him down because I didn't protect Mac like I promised.

That's gotten to him. He's upset that I think that way. Upset as he was when he came home that day he knows now to stop the hanging that I did everything I could and he thinks Mac knew I did too.

As soon as I tell him to stop blaming himself he hangs his head. Maybe now he'll get it out of his system.

I'm right. He's finally crying. I reach out and put an arm around his shoulders while the storm passes as my ma used to say. After a couple of minutes he stops and wipes his eyes in embarrassment. There's nothing to be ashamed of but that's the way Jess is. He's volatile and emotional but he doesn't like for anyone to see him this upset. Angry, or happy, is one thing. Crying over the death of a friend is quite another.

And then I got an idea. What Mac needed was a nice marker for his grave. I have some nice oak stashed in the barn that I was saving for a special project. I didn't know why I bought it at the time but now I'm glad I did for it's making Jess feel a whole lot better to know that I'll help him fix up something appropriate to put on Mac's grave.


End file.
